Dulling the Sickle and Breaking the Hammer
by ISA-Sniper
Summary: Founded in 1961 by President Eisenhower, the Trust is a community of elite individuals dedicated to the protection of the American way of life. They are dark men, perfect for the dark times America faces. Rated T for now, the rating may change. All OCs.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Well gentlemen, welcome to the 1st Army Research Division._

_You have all been picked for a very important, classified unit. Know that nothing you ever see or do in this unit is to ever reach the outside world. For the sake of security when on operations where it may be required, you will be given unit markings, and other information to act as a cover for dealing with both foreign and American personnel you may encounter. It's very important that you keep total secrecy about this unit._

_Now on to your mission gentlemen: North and South Vietnam._

_We already have plenty of advisors over there, gentlemen, and it's inevitable that we're going to start slugging it out with the Vietnamese if something doesn't happen soon. That's why we're sending you boys in ahead of any real combat units. You've got what could possibly be described as the most important black ops mission of this century._

_You're going to kill Uncle Ho._

* * *

"_**Operation Red Light"**_

_**August 9th, 1962**_

_**Sergeant Adam Setser**_

_**1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"**_

_**Hanoi, Vietnam**_

The basement was dingy and full of cigarette smoke as I slowly woke up. A few bare bulbs illuminated the stone walls and dirt floor that the ten of us had been calling home for the last three days. Our superiors back in the US had provided us with some local contacts for the sake of this operation that had also gotten them the info we were now using. They had agreed to house us, help us get to the airport once we had hit Ho Chi Minh's car, and one of them would be flying the plane out of the city to safety for us.

So the plan was simple. We had discovered that 'Uncle Ho' was going to be attending a party that was set up by an apparently close friend of his in the military. After having already snuck in to North Vietnam's capital, we had discovered when exactly it was that he planned to head for his friend's house, and had planned out an ambush to kill him. From there some of the local contacts would guide us on the shortest ways to the airport, and then we would get out of there to the safety of a debriefing.

Sitting up from my "bed" of bags of rice, I looked around at our team. The first man to catch my attention was 1st Lieutenant Eddy Baker: our squad leader. After him was Staff Sergeant Louis Moscerra: a former Marine who I served with when I had fought in the Korean War. Finally there was Sergeant Phillip Costa. He was an Army airborne trooper and medic who I had instantly struck it off with when we met in for the first time a few months ago.

The other people were ones who I had only had the time to really learn the names and ranks of, without really having gotten to _know_ them yet. Regardless, I knew them well enough to trust them with my back for this operation. We had to, really: this operation couldn't afford any errors in it or the whole thing would fall apart. That was the last thing we needed when we were in the middle of enemy territory, with only one way to really get to safety.

"Good to see you awake, Adam." I heard Staff Sergeant Moscerra chuckle.

"Yeah: rise n' shine sleeping beauty." Sergeant Costa grinned.

"Oh, shut up." I retorted, reaching in to my vest for a cigarette.

I glanced at my watch once I had lit up my cigarette. It was ten o' clock in the morning.

"So are we headed out soon?" I asked, looking to Lieutenant Baker.

I watched him glance at his own watch with an almost grim look on his face.

"Yeah: we better get going." He looked to Staff Sergeant Moscerra "Go get Chu." He ordered.

* * *

Chu had been our primary local contact. He had allowed us to stay in the basement of his home and he had provided us with a pilot for our extraction: his own brother. Besides that, he had pulled a few strings, and managed to find people who were willing to fight for us. Once we had hit Uncle Ho's car, they would work with us to get to the airport, and then we would fly out of the city to safety. I couldn't help it but I kept going over that plan again and again in my head. I guess I was just getting nervous as time ticked away.

"Are you okay?" Staff Sergeant Moscerra shook me with a hand on my shoulder.

I looked over and gave him a simple nod.

Our set up was a simple one. Lieutenant Baker and four members of the team, including Sergeant Costa, would stay up in an unused apartment we were using for the operation, and fire down in to the street. Staff Sergeant Moscerra, myself, and the other three members of our team were currently hidden in the alley across the street while on the same side of the street as Lieutenant Baker's team was six of our local fighters. We would hit the car from three different angles to make sure that all of its occupants were dead.

We just had to wait for Lieutenant Baker and his team to open fire before we would.

"Are you ready for this, Louis?" I asked, crouching down behind him.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess." He grunted in reply.

I shoulder my M1 Carbine, leaning one shoulder against the brick wall. Lieutenant Baker's team would open up first with the two Stoner machineguns that we had brought with us, then we would all hit Uncle Ho with everything that we could. Most of us were using M1 Carbines, a few of us had AK-47s, and I think some of the locals were using leftover rifles from when the French still occupied the area. Overall we weren't the most heavily equipped strike team in the world, but I had a feeling that we could chunk enough lead to get the job done right.

"Isn't he supposed to be coming through here soon?" I heard the Corporal behind me groan.

"Shut up: he'll be here soon enough." I snapped, not even bothering to look at him.

"Yeah, just be pat..." Staff Sergeant Moscerra wasn't able to finish his sentence.

The distinctive sound of the two Stoners broke out, their muzzle flashes coming from a third story window. At that moment, we began rushing out on to the streets, past the crowds, and out on to the sidewalk. When we came out there were three cars, with the center one being the one that we were told Uncle Ho was in. I raised my Carbine and fired indiscriminately in to the cars until I had emptied three magazines in to it. Then suddenly things started to go down-hill as we heard the sounds of approaching sirens: too close.

North Vietnamese police cars appeared at either end of the street and came screeching to a stop, their occupants jumping out, and drawing their weapons. I instantly realized that this must have been a decoy set up for an occasion like this. Staff Sergeant Moscerra wasted no time in signaling us to run in to the alley. We had to get out of there fast! Thankfully our egress plan didn't require the two teams of "Trustees" to meet up until we had reached the airfield. So that meant that outside of the counter-ambush, we were still partially on plan.

"We have to get out of here!" I heard the Corporal from before yell.

"Quit talking and just run for it!" I ordered.

We began moving through all sorts of alleys and back roads with sirens seeming to always be just one step behind us the whole way. A few times I could hear bullets whizzing by while panicked civilians ran every which way with no idea what to do when armed "capitalist devils" came running through their neighborhood. Everything was passing in a blur as we ran. A market, some old mama-san's kitchen, and a café of some kind all passed in a blur. I don't know how it happened, but when I looked back I saw that we had suddenly _lost_ two members of our team.

"Louis, we're down two!" I called to him.

"There's no time to go back for them!" He yelled back.

"But..." I heard the Corporal begin to protest.

We came to a stop in the L-turn of an alley, stopping to take a breath.

"He's right Corporal: we all know what we signed up for." I was low on breath, panting.

Sirens were ringing out all over the city and I could hear people running around in panic.

"Come on, the airfield isn't too far away now, I think." Staff Sergeant Louis Moscerra breathed.

"Let's just hope we can make it." The Corporal said with a grunt.

"Don't speak like that Corporal." I would have snapped, but I didn't want to waste the time.

We began moving out again, slower this time, and approached the mouth of the alley cautiously with Staff Sergeant Moscerra taking point. He peaked around the corner and scanned for cops or soldiers as best he could through the crowds. He gave me a thumb up and then we ran out in to the street. I raised my Carbine in to the air and fired in to the air, scattering the crowd. I wasn't exactly multilingual but I knew enough Vietnamese to communicate on a basic level.

*"Hãy ra khỏi đây! Trả giá!" I yelled.

Even though I sounded pretty mean when I told them to "get out" I had a feeling that my gun had more influence on them at that moment. As a path cleared for us we quickly ran to a small side-street. We knew the general direction to the airfield and I just kept hoping that we could make it in time. If we didn't then that meant we would get left out in the open with _no_ support. We were told that since our unit was experimental, the chance of rescue would be almost none if we were captured, and we had all accepted this job knowing that risk. Now though, that it seemed so present and possible it was beginning to scare me.

"Let's move!" Staff Sergeant Moscerra barked at us.

We burst from another winding maze of alleys on to yet _another_ street. We were given a break, however, because we were now looking at the front gate of the airfield. It had already been cleared out by Lieutenant Baker's team because there were dead Vietnamese police officers on the sidewalk and street. We went running through the gate as fast as we could, towards the hangers. We could see the plane taxiing out of one of the hangers and Lieutenant Baker's squad was currently suppressing anybody who tried to impede our progress.

I could hear sirens pulling up to the gate and moments later bullets were whizzing past us: tearing in to the tarmac. I could see the plain getting closer, closer, and closer still. Then suddenly I couldn't run anymore. A burn spiked up through my right leg and I suddenly lost all sense of balance. I was barely able to stop face-planting in to the tarmac. I saw Staff Sergeant Moscerra stop for a moment and look back to me. When I looked up to him, I instantly knew what had happened. It seems like my luck hadn't panned out.

"Get out of here Louis: I'll be alright!" I yelled over the gunfire.

I rolled on to my back, using my good leg to avoid any unnecessary damage. I supported myself on one arm and drew my Colt .45 handgun from its thigh holster. I wasn't really "aiming" at the police moving up from the gate but I could tell I hit some of them as I fired. Unfortunately I only had three magazines. Not to mention that for some reason I couldn't stomach the idea of suicide all that well. So in the end I found myself surrounded by three very _angry_ looking Vietnamese police officers who were all pointing their service pistols at my face.

**"Tôi đầu hàng!" I exclaimed, raising my hands above my head.

A boot to my face was the consciousness-robbing response from one of the officers.

* * *

_The room was unassuming. Its door was a plain white, thick wooden fixture with a keypad lock that only about a dozen people knew the combination to on it. It was the kind of room stuffed so far back in one of the rarely traversed halls of the Pentagon that you wouldn't really remember it if you passed by the place. Inside it was dark, with only a single lamp on an oak wood desk illuminating a small portion of the room. _

_The man sitting behind the desk was a heavy-set, barrel-chested man. He was wearing a tailor-made black suit, with its coat hanging from a coat rack in a nearby corner. To those who worked with the cigar-chomping man, he was known simply as the Director._

_Across from him was a skinnier man, with round-lensed glasses, and a dark gray suit; suspenders going over a white dress shirt. He was a paled skinned individual, with skinny fingers, and thin pale lips. He held a thick manila envelope in one of his hands and the other held a halfway gone cigarette to his lips. The lenses of his glasses reflected the light from the desk lamp as he leaned back in to the chair in front of the desk. He was known to some rather ominously as the Doctor._

_The ashtray between them on the desk was a sign of how long the situation had already gone on: filled with ashes, cigar stubs, and cigarette butts. The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and acrid smoke that drifted towards the vents._

"_It was a total failure, Director." The Doctor said with a dissatisfied look on his face._

"_How bad, Doctor?" The Director asked with a thick Texan accent._

"_Two agents dead, two captured, and worst of all..." He leaned forward "...Ho is still alive."_

"_So it was all a decoy?" The Director asked "They knew we were coming?"_

"_I don't think they were expecting us personally, Director." The Doctor explained._

"_What do you mean?" The Director asked with a grunt._

"_I have a feeling it was just a security measure for _any_ attempt on his life." The Doctor sighed._

"_So who were our agents?" The Director asked, snubbing the remains of his cigar in the tray._

"_Corporal Anthony Solberg and Sergeant Phillip Costa were both killed." The Doctor sighed "Private Jeremy Creed and Sergeant Adam Setser are both MIA: assumed captured."_

"_Any chance of rescue?" The Director retrieved a new cigar from a desk drawer._

"_Not likely: if we ever see them again it won't be for a long time, Director." The Doctor sighed._

"_Well then..." The Director reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose "What now Doctor?"_

**

* * *

**

**Author's Notes:** Howdy, all! I decided that my original Trust story was a little...messy. As a result I've decided that I will rewrite it in to _two_ stories. The first will take place around the time of the Vietnam War and the Cold War after the Trust's founding at the end of the Eisenhower presidency. The second story (which I will start after this one) will be in the Modern Warfare universe. Also, for those who are gluttons of punishment for their eyes: I _will_ be leaving the original one up.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own Call of Duty, or any logos/affiliates thereof. The Trust, it's members, and the specific events of this story line were all created by me, however.

* = "Get out of here! Now!"

** = "I surrender!"

It should be noted that all translations are provided by possibly inaccurate online sources.


	2. Chapter 1: The Great Escape

**Chapter 1: The Great Escape**

_The briefing room wasn't much to talk about. A marker board and topographic map stood at one end of the room, showing the local area, and acting as primary sources of information when it came to team briefings. One man stood between the two boards in a Navy uniform, with his arms crossed. In front of him was a compilation of chairs, on which sat several other men in uniforms just like ones that he was wearing. They were all watching his briefing intently._

"_Okay boys, the situation is simple." He started "As of two days ago, one of our planes spotted a truck making its way through the jungle. They followed its path and when they did, they found themselves looking down at a well camouflaged camp of some sort. They took as many pictures as they could and then headed back for home." He indicated a red circle on the map "Boys: we just found ourselves one of Charlie's prison camps."_

_He moved to stand on the left of both the boards._

"_So our plan is simple: we'll insert via helo approximately one mile north of the camp, using the nearby terrain as concealment from enemy observers. After doing a pair of fake insertions to throw off any observers who can see us, the team will deploy, and make their way south. The plan is to breach the perimeter of the compound, eliminate the guards, and secure any prisoners." The man crossed his arms "After that you'll call in and members of the 101st will come in with medical support to help you secure the area and evacuate the prisoners."_

* * *

"_**The Great Escape"**_

_**January 11th, 1968**_

_**Petty Officer Second Class Paul Havens**_

_**SEAL Team 1**_

_**Somewhere in the jungles of North Vietnam**_

.

The two Hueys moved low over the trees, the SEALs in each one surveying the ground below as they flew over. I was a bit nervous as I checked to make sure my shotgun was okay for what must have been the third or fourth time since we had gotten on the helicopter. I had never been on an operation like this before, even though I was a Navy SEAL. Almost every other operation we went on was simple: go in to an area, kill the people there, maybe blow something up, and get out of there before the enemy could pin us down.

Now we had friendly forces to deal with, on-scene. We'd need to watch our shots in certain areas and make sure to clearly identify friend or foe. Sure it sounded easy but when you find yourself in combat, things rarely ever go cleanly, and when they do then the enemy is obviously laying a trap for you somewhere along the way. I tried not to worry, though. I had a job to do and I would need to keep my mind focused if I was going to make it through this alive.

The two helicopters approached the designated landing zone. I felt my stomach drop as our pilot dropped in to a wide clearing. He came to a hover over the ground for a few moments before rising up, heading to another clearing, and swooping down just as radically. He swooped back up a few moments later, came in to yet a third clearing, and I prepped myself to get off the helicopter. I was the second off with and I held my Stoner machinegun close to my chest as we suddenly descended in to the clearing.

The five of us piled of and went prone in to the grass. I looked down the sights of my machinegun as we all made sure the surrounding tree line was clear. We heard the sound of our Huey pulling away as the second one made its way in to our clearing. It came to hover over us and we couldn't even hear the sounds of our fellow SEALs hitting the ground. I only knew that they were reinforcing the perimeter when I saw one of the SEALs from the second team go in to a prone position on my right, with a pump-action shotgun.

Then we all lay motionless once again as the last Huey pulled away, the distinctive sound of its rotors growing more and more distant. Nobody made a sound as we all listened for the sounds of the local wildlife to return. As the first chirping started up again, our team leader deemed that it was safe to move out, and with a single hand signal we all rose up, and formed up in an extremely loose column that headed in to the forest. I was near the back as we went, constantly checking my immediate surroundings.

I couldn't fire, though.

Those were orders. The Stoner had a sound that had become synonymous with the Navy SEALs. It was a general rule of thumb that unless I had to, I wasn't supposed to fire the machinegun. There was an extremely hefty bounty on the heads of any and all Navy SEALs. The last thing we wanted to do was announce who we were to any poor, eager, and armed locals in earshot. Of course, if a fellow SEALs life would be directly in danger if I didn't, then I had been told that it would _obviously_ be required of me to open fire on whoever was unlucky enough to be on the business end when I pulled the trigger.

The jungle was quiet as we moved, with only the sounds of nearby wildlife as we all made our way towards the prison camp. Our plan was to circle around the large hill behind which the helicopter had landed in order to attack the camp. Thankfully the scouting flights that had gone over the area didn't reveal any signs of NVA or Vietcong patrols on our specific approach route to the camp, but that didn't mean we were going to take any chances, and not keep our eyes peeled for any immediate danger to the team.

One such immediate danger came from up front as we were all given the signal to stop and get down. Dropping in to a crouch, I continued scanning the environment, but then realized what was happening as the rest of the column began slowly moving forward. Word came back through the line right after my realization to confirm it: our point man had spotted a trip-wire and now we were begging the painfully slow process of stepping over it, pointing it out to the man behind you, and waiting for everybody to do so.

It wasn't _too_ long before I was in front of the wire after having our JRTO point it out to me. I rose up and slowly stepped over it, left foot first. The moisture clinging to the wire made it shimmer in the light coming through from the canopy. I followed the wire with my eyes and came to the splitting trunk of a small tree. There I saw a captured American grenade, with its pin tide to the wire, and ready to kill patrols just like ours. I wordlessly pointed out the wire to the man behind me and stepped all the way over.

Once that ordeal was taken care off, we continued our way through the jungle. Everybody was completely silent and now I was even more nervous than I had been before. I hated being in the jungle in the first place, it was enemy territory, and I _really_ hated trip-wires. Then again, I don't think that made me different from almost any other soldier in the US military right now. I just had to suck it up and deal with it. I was in the Navy SEALs: we didn't get any low-risk missions. It just wasn't in our nature as soldiers.

When we finally came in to view of the prison's perimeter fence, we formed up to go over the final plan. A few minutes later I was lying prone on a mound of dirt, looking at the front of the prison complex. Our second machinegun had been placed at the rear, to provide cover on both sides of the base during the course of the raid. The occupants of the base all seemed completely oblivious. I guess I had really overestimated the NVA's competence for this mission, because none of them really seemed to be keeping an active eye out.

Meanwhile, at the north side of the fence the rest of the team was beginning to cut through the fence. Once I heard gunfire, my orders were to open fire on any Vietcong or NVA soldier that I saw inside the base. It would keep the enemy occupied long enough that they would have to keep their heads down while the rest of our boys looked for the prisoners. After that I would just have to come inside the fence with the rest of the team, and await the arrival of the boys from the 101st who would help us secure the place for evacuation.

I didn't have to wait in silence for long. I heard the distinctive sound of M16 fire and saw some of the people start looking to the north. I readjusted how the stock rested against my shoulder and then listened as the other Stoner gunner opened fire from his side of the camp. I aimed down my sites, picked a pair of NVA soldiers standing out in the open, and squeezed off a burst of rounds. I watched dirt kick up around them, both of them began convulsing with each impact, and then they fell over dead. By this time the whole base was on alert.

I began firing at anybody in an NVA uniformed that was our in the open, was firing out of a building, or made the mistake of putting their head out in the open for even the briefest periods of time. Eventually the one hundred-round belt I had loaded was spent. I placed the case with the pieces of the belt that had been spent and retrieved a new one from my vest. I quickly but calmly went about the loading process, putting in the new belt, and chambering the first round. Once that was done, I shouldered it again, and began opening fire.

_**

* * *

**_

_**January 11th, 1968**_

_**Petty Officer First Class Darryl Birdsong**_

_**SEAL Team 1**_

_**Securing buildings within the prison camp**_

.

We had moved like lightning once we had cut through the fence. Our point-man had shot one of their sentries and it was only a few moments later when the Stoner machineguns had begun to open up on the NVA soldiers. After that we kept our fast pace, moving from building to building. Our team went through barracks, a kitchen, a few storage buildings, and we moved as fast as we possibly could to try and find the prisoners. I was right behind the point-man the whole time with my shotgun as we went and I was simply amazed that we had gotten so far with nobody getting hit by all the fire that was going around by then.

Now we were approaching the final building where we expected the prisoners to be. I was still right behind our point-man as we stalked up on the door. With an order from our commander, I retrieved a stun grenade from my vest while our point-man got ready to go. He looked back at me to make sure I was ready and I gave him a nod yes. I pulled the pin on the stun grenade, he opened the door enough for me to throw it in, and I did so. I heard it clatter on to the floor and heard a Vietnamese soldier or two cry out in surprise on the other side.

When it went off, we stormed inside. My shotgun was already raised and I took aim at the first man that I saw. He was holding his hands over his ears, walking around in pain, and completely disoriented. I fired off a single round. The spray hit him directly in his left side and I watched as he dropped like a rock. I couldn't stay and "admire" my work, though. We had to keep moving and get the prisoners out now. We suspected that they were being held downstairs.

We began moving through the rooms on the first floor, wanting to clear them before we went in to the basement to find the prisoners being held here.

_**

* * *

**_

_**January 11th, 1968**_

_**Private Jeremy Creed**_

_**1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"**_

_**Held captive with Sgt. Adam Setser**_

.

Looking back on it now in my cell, it was hard to believe that simply because I had stopped to save a teammate that I had been captured. Private Lemmis, the man in front of me when I had been running to the airfield with Staff Sergeant Moscerra, had gotten shot, and I had stopped briefly to try and patch him up. Apparently the others hadn't heard me and before I knew it I had suddenly been swarmed by the police in the area. A few years and _countless_ beatings later: I was sitting in a cell in some prison somewhere, looking at the still figure of Sergeant Setser on the bed opposite of me, and trying to think of a way out.

Sergeant Setser and I had met in the Hanoi Hilton in '66. They had been shifting us around the country, from interrogator to interrogator, and had been getting more and more irritated that neither of us would tell them what they wanted to know. Our mutual captors had apparently thought that a stay in one of the worst camps in North Vietnam would loosen our lips a bit. When it seemed like that wasn't working, they had shifted us here to avoid any rescue attempts should another team like the one we had been part of came to get us out.

Since then they had eased up on me and started in on Adam. Whether it was because they thought he was the senior out of us or they were trying the "talk or your friend suffers" technique wasn't apparent to me. Whatever it was, they were brutal. They would come in every morning beat us mercilessly in our cells with clubs, and then they would drag Adam off for only the Lord himself knew _what_ kind of torture. Whatever it was, it wasn't working on him, or at least that's the way it seemed to me.

If anything, it had made Adam more unwilling to talk.

He also had trouble walking on his own. Whenever he needed to use the bucket in the corner I had to get up and help him over there. The guards would just drag him to his torture these days, as if he were just a lump of meat. Mentally, it seemed like he was too, at least when it came to helping me formulate a plan. Whenever I proposed an idea, I was usually greeted with only tiny grunts or maybe a _few_ words from him, if I was lucky.

It was getting hard, to be honest.

"Sergeant." I croaked, my throat parched.

He didn't move.

"Sarge!" I was straining myself.

"What, Private?" He was mumbling to the point where I had to strain to hear him.

"How do you think we're gonna get out of here?" I asked.

He grunted, shrugging his shoulders, "I don't know."

"Well, we've got to..." I was cut short by a sound in the distant.

It had been quick and almost impossible to notice from the basement of the building we were in. As I listened for it again, I was almost sure that I hadn't actually heard _anything_, but then I heard it again! Gunshots! Those weren't AKs as far as I could tell, either! That meant that US soldiers were hitting the camp! That meant we were probably going to be freed! I looked to Adam, suddenly rejuvenated with new energy.

"Sarge, Sarge!" I called excitedly.

"I hear it, Private." He grunted but made no move to sit up.

"It looks like we've got our rescue!" I couldn't believe how happy I felt.

I kept listening as the gunfire drew closer. It sounded like there was a lot of gunfire: machineguns, assault rifles, and I was pretty sure I heard explosions going off now. I watched the bars to our cell, feeling like I willing one of our rescuers to suddenly _appear_ in the cell. My wish was granted, at least in part, when I suddenly heard a loud banging sound upstairs. Rapid gunfire soon followed, echoing down the stairwell, and off the stone walls of the basement. Then I heard the door at the top of the stairs come flying open, followed by rapid steps going down.

Moments later, there was a man at our cell with a shotgun, and he rapidly assessed the interior of our cell. He was about five feet and ten inches tall by my estimation, he was wearing jeans, a bush cap, a t-shirt, his LBEs, and he had skin so dark that it practically blended in with the surrounding shadows of the basement.

"US military: don't worry boys, we're getting you out!" He was obviously wired on adrenaline.

I watched across the room as one of the other soldiers in his squad kicked open a fragile-looking wooden door. The man then emptied his entire M16 magazine in to the room before disappearing from site. Meanwhile the soldier at our cell turned and kept his eyes on the stairs. Two other doors were down here and I watched the soldiers move to the other two. Rapid muzzle flashes and gun shots always followed moments after as they killed the North Vietnamese inhabitants.

"Jack, call in the support!" I heard one of them yell.

The man he was yelling at crouched down and began talking in to his radio. I listened as the man spoke, saying to "bring in the birds". Meanwhile, a soldier emerged from one of the rooms, and I could see he was holding something in one of his hands now. As he went to the three other cell doors besides ours, I could tell that he had found the key. It wasn't too long before they were tossed to the man in front of our cell, who quickly undid the lock. As he opened the door, I moved to stand up, and moved to Adam.

"The Sergeant can't walk!" I had to yell over the gunfire outside now.

"Don't worry: I can carry him!" The soldier reassured me.

"Sir, the birds are coming in five!" Their team's radio man shouted.

"Alright then, let's head up top!" Their commander ordered, "Darryl, Sam: you two stay here!"

The soldier in our cell nodded to their squad leader. I then watched as the others, save for a second man, all headed up the stairs to secure the building, and the two still with us took positions overlooking the stairs while they waited. I swear to God that it was the longest five minutes of my entire life. Eventually, a single man came walking, rather energetically down the stairs, and waved for us all to follow.

"Come on: the birds are here!" He yelled excitedly "Let's get 'em out of here!"

I suddenly found myself holding a shotgun. The soldier who had been with the two of us bent down and pulled Adam on to his shoulders. I hardly doubted I had any real strength to control the shotgun if I had to shoot, but I was willing to bet the helicopters they had called in were helping them clear out the area. Instead, I just kept a tight grip on the shotgun, and followed the soldier as he hauled Adam up the stairs to our awaiting freedom.

From there, we went out in to the open, and began running towards the center of the compound where a Huey bearing a red cross on its nose was waiting. The soldier set Adam down in the helicopter and a medic immediately began attending to him. Handing the shotgun back to the soldier, I then noticed men in the standard olive-drab uniforms who were going from building to building and securing the surrounding area. I climbed onboard the Huey.

"We made it, Sarge!" I called out over the sound of the rotors.

The medic broke from his work on Adam long enough to slide the side door shut. The Huey pulled away from the camp and I leaned back in to the seat. Sure, a Huey wasn't the most comfortable ride, but after having spent several years in a Vietnamese prison it was heaven. I shut my eyes, exhausted, and let the vibrations of the helicopter rock me to sleep as we flew back towards the safety of US-controlled bases.

* * *

_The office had changed some over the years. The sound-proofing had been improved, the keypad lock updated, and the walls had been painted an egg-shell like color. The desk and the chairs had remained over the years, along with the occupants from before. The Director sat in his chair, a thumb hooked through his suspenders, and a cigar once again in his other hand with glowing red embers. Meanwhile the Doctor sat on the opposite side of the desk, holding a manila envelope in one hand, and a freshly lit cigarette in the other._

_The ash tray was once again filled with the stubs of cigarettes and cigars._

"_Director, I have some good news." The Doctor said, a small smile gracing his lips._

"_What's that?" The director asked, readjusting himself in his seat._

"_Sergeant Daniel Faraday and Private Gregory Mayer have been rescued." The Doctor said._

"_Who?" The Director asked, confused._

"_Sergeant Adam Setser and Private Jeremy Creed were rescued." The Doctor grinned lightly._

"_I wasn't aware that we had sent out a rescue operation." The Director sounded suspicious._

"_The Navy was conducting a raid: they happened to be in the camp." The Doctor explained._

"_Is anybody suspicious?" The Director asked._

"_No: our agents put in some paperwork to say that their tour was nearly up." The Doctor said._

"_That's good..." The Director sighed, "...when can they get back in the field?"_

"_Both of them will be ready within two months." The Doctor said._

"_That's good to hear." The Director replied._

"_This brings me to something else: Petty Officer Darryl Birdsong." The Doctor's grin faded._

_He set the manila envelope on the desk and the Director went through it while they talked._

* * *

**Author's Notes:** The new chapter! Yay! Anyways, so this was the rescue chapter...obviously. I have some exciting things (or at least I hope all the readers will think they're exciting) coming up next, people! I hope people enjoy this and I plan to make the next chapter soon.


	3. Chapter 2: Meeting the Shepherd

**Chapter 2: Meeting the Shepherd**

_It's good to see that some of us have managed to make it back from hell, boys. Now it's my job to help you all get sent right back in to it. There's been a lot since some of you last saw freedom. Berlin's been sliced in half between all of the western Allied powers and the Soviet Union. We are always trying to get info from over there and to have local contacts on the Communist side. One of our contacts is a Russian named Petya Yevgeniy Radimir, under the call-sign of "Shepherd". He's a GRU double-agent who contacted the United States about eight months ago with information._

_Well now he wants out._

_Petya says that he thinks that the GRU and KGB are starting to track some information leaks to him. He believes that if we don't get him and his girlfriend out soon, then they'll both be dead. Normally this would be handled by the CIA, but apparently our superiors believe that this would be a good test for our skills. That's why two of our agents will be crossing over the wall to get the two of them out by a plane we've planted in an airfield on the eastern side of Berlin._

* * *

"_**Meeting the Shepherd"  
**__**April 4th, 1968  
**__**Sergeant Adam Setser  
**__**1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"  
**__**Berlin, Germany**_

"It's good to see you walking, Sergeant." I heard a voice say.

Even though I was startled, I didn't outwardly show it. Instead I removed the cigarette I had been smoking from my lips and slowly blew a cloud of smoke out while giving a side-long glance to the passenger-side window. Petty Officer First Class Darryl Birdsong was leaning in through the window with a smile on his face.

To tell the truth, I wouldn't have recognized him for who he was if it hadn't been for what he had said. He was in denim jeans, some hiking boots, a dark red t-shirt, and a dark brown leather jacket. He seemed like a different person without camouflage face-paint, LBEs on his chest, and a shotgun in his hands. Taking another drag on my cigarette, I turned my head fully to face him.

"What are you doing here, Squid?" I asked with a chuckle.

"It seems your friends like the way I operate." Darryl replied, still grinning as he got in the car.

"Or maybe they just wanted a break from all us Army and Marine boys." I shrugged.

"Yeah: I wouldn't blame them." Darryl lit a cigarette of his own.

We hadn't even met up until now, having entered western Berlin separately for security's sake, yet already we were acting like close friends. I suppose that's what happened when one guy rescued another guy from a prison camp. Besides, I guess that was the way with all of us "Trustees". Our profession of choice didn't exactly allow for girlfriends, wives, and other forms of social life so we had to take what we could get in life. That made making friends amongst fellow Trustees all the easier, but losing a fellow agent all the harder.

I started the car and pulled away from the curb.

We had been provided with forged papers in order to get across the wall without any resistance from the West German and Soviet sentries. After we had gotten past the wall, we were supposed to head for the back door of an old, abandoned warehouse. There, Petya would meet us, and after we had him we would take him to his girlfriend. She was at her mother's house and so he would guide us there. Once we had her, we were to head for the airfield, and then we would fly out of there to western Berlin.

Darryl and I had both been trained how to fly for _just_ this mission.

Moving through the streets, I headed for the signature Berlin Wall. In some areas, it was only some barbed wire strung between wooden poles, but here it was much different. It had high stone walls, spotlights, and guard towers equipped with machineguns. Armed guards manned all of the entrances and exits: an attempt to make sure that nobody got in or out without express permission from the Soviet government in Moscow. They claimed it was to keep everybody else out, yet many people had been shot trying to escape to the West.

I pulled up to one of those many checkpoints and pulled to a stop. The guard standing outside the checkpoint building walked slowly towards me. Looking at him, I could tell that he wasn't expecting anything despite the late-night passage. He was holding his AK-47 loosely, letting it hang by the strap around his neck, and he seemed totally disinterested. As he approached, I retrieved the papers I had been given from inside my coat. He came to a stop on my side of the car and waited as I rolled down the window.

"What brings you here, my friend?" He asked; his Russian accent light.

*"Заказы от Москвы." I held up my papers for him.

That seemed to shock him. He gave me a nod, shot a hand signal to the man inside the checkpoint building, and I watched as the red-and-white painted wooden rod that blocked the street raised up. The sentry waved me through. Casually, I put the false orders back in to my coat and drove past the checkpoint. Once we were on the other side I began to roll my window up and pulled off on to one of the side-roads. From there I took as many turns as I could on the way to our first destination, moving through the streets.

We kept an eye on our surroundings as we went, constantly checking to make sure we weren't being followed as we made our way towards the industrial district of East Berlin. When we arrived, we found that here was a lack of sentries on our route. That perplexed me somewhat. I had imagined there would be more guards to make sure that curfews were enforced. Instead we went totally unopposed as we approached our destination. The abandoned warehouse where we would be meeting Petya sat out from the rest: totally unguarded.

There was a chain-link fence that surrounded the warehouse compound. I stopped to let Darryl out and watched as he pushed open one side of the gate. Then I drove through, he pushed it shut once again, and then got back in. Then we turned off our headlights, slowly circling around to the back of the building. Once we had reached the back of the main warehouse, Darryl and I checked to make sure the Makarovs we had been given were ready, and then we both got out. The plan was that Darryl would stay to watch the car for now while I got Petya.

We had no need to, though, because as I approached the backdoor I saw it open up. I got ready to run for cover until I saw the man walk out. He was a short man of only about five feet and five inches in height, or at least it seemed to me from this distance. He had messy dark blonde hair and a pair of large aviator sunglasses. He was wearing jeans like ours, tennis shoes, and a dark green t-shirt, and a black leather jacket like mine. He approached cautiously, constantly looking around the area as if scanning for any threats.

I threw the stub of my cigarette to the ground, "Hershey."

He looked perplexed as I retrieved another cigarette, and cupped my hand around the match.

"Hershey." I repeated more harshly now, getting suspicious.

"Almonds." He finally replied, his confused look disappearing.

"Good to meet you, Shepherd." I removed the cigarette from my lips.

"I assume you are the CIA man who is getting me out of here?" He asked.

"You could say that: let's go." I waved for him to follow me to the car.

He got in the back seat as we moved back towards the gate and we went through the same opening-and-closing routine as before. We turned our headlights back on and followed directions from Petya towards the house of his girlfriend's mother. He constantly seemed to be checking around the car as we went, as if he were afraid a Soviet strike team was suddenly going to come out from one of the alleys, and grab us. Thankfully, that didn't happen, and we pulled up to the two-story house where we came to a stop.

"I will go in and get her." Petya told us, getting out from the back seat.

We watched him as he circled around to the back of the house. The car was silent.

"I don't trust him." Darryl suddenly piped up.

"What do you mean?" I asked, taking another deep drag on my cigarette.

"He just seems wrong." Darryl replied, "Like there's something he's not telling us."

"Everybody has secrets in this kind of business." I chuckled, "Haven't you seen the movies?"

"Fair enough." Darryl sounded somewhat defeated, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

We kept our eyes out while we waited and I occasionally glanced at my watch. Ten minutes later Darryl tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out the alley once again. The girl behind Petya was short, maybe five foot-five, and she had bright blonde hair. She was wearing a short blue skirt, a white button-up shirt, and high heels. They both piled in to the back seat of the car and I wasted no time pulling away from the house.

I didn't even notice the car two blocks away that started moving, it's headlights off.

We continued through the streets once again. I continued to use all of the side-streets and indirect routes that I could think of. So far this was the least eventful mission of my career. Then again, I only had one other under my belt, and I had gotten _captured_ at the end of that one! It wasn't something that I planned on reliving if I could help it. I didn't want to think about that, though. Instead I just focused on getting to the airfield and getting out of Soviet territory.

We continued through the streets, getting ever closer to the airfield. The closer we got, the more relaxed Petya seemed to become, but I was still nervous as we drove. I just hoped that the guard at the gate would believe the papers, even with all four of us in the car, and that we would be able to get to the plane without any incident. My last mission hadn't ended so well and so I was keeping my fingers crossed that this one didn't go the same way. I didn't know why, but there was something in the back of my mind telling me that this wasn't going to be easy.

Pushing the feeling to the back of my mind, I drove on the rode alongside the airfield's barbed-wire topped fence, and headed for the gate. There, I pulled to a stop at the signal from the guard standing outside the small checkpoint building. Like the last person, he came to my side of the car, and waited as I rolled down the window. I wasted no time in retrieving the order papers from my coat. Seeing the crest at the top, I don't think he really looked at them after that. He gave me a nod and with quick hand-motions the gate was opened.

I drove through and headed for the hanger where the plane was kept.

"Something's up." Darryl suddenly piped up.

I looked to the hanger.

"I see it." I grunted.

"What's wrong?" Petya asked nervously.

"Look." Darryl ordered, pointing to the hanger we were headed for.

The two black cars were parked beside the hangar. There were four men standing beside the four cars. Two of them looked like they were smoking and they were all wearing heavy black trench coats. It was obvious that they were either KGB or GRU agents who had been waiting for our arrival. Somehow, they had found out about us, found out where we were headed, and had come ahead to capture or kill us before we could escape. My grip tightened on the wheel as I stopped around eighty yards short of the waiting agents.

"Darryl, come with me; you two stay here." I was gritting my teeth in anger as I spoke.

"What is..." Petya froze.

"Like I said; stay here." I repeated just as harshly as before.

Darryl and I both got out. We had already gotten the attention of the four men waiting for of us and two of them started in our direction as we started in theirs. We came to a stop only three or four feet from each other, standing exactly across from one another. To try and act casual, I retrieved a cigarette from my coat, and lit it up. I watched Darryl do the same. Looking at the agent across from me, I started to get picked off. He was a puggy but tall individual, with a smug look of satisfaction on his face as if he was sure he had just won something.

"So Americans," The man across from me started, "What brings you to glorious east Berlin?"

"Just seeing the sights." Darryl replied, a look of contempt on his face.

"No need to be so..." I didn't let him finish.

Even though I hadn't told Darryl ahead of time, we both moved like one person. We each crossed the short distance between ourselves and the agents. The man across from me began to reach in to his coat for a gun. I stopped his arm with my own hand and delivered a knee to his stomach. As he fell to the ground winded, I drew my own Makarov, and emptied three rounds in to his chest. I heard Darryl empty two in to his man while the two men remaining by the cars drew pistols of their own and began to fire.

They each only got off two or three shots and each one missed. Darryl and I both opened fire and emptied our magazines. Both men fell dead and three windows between the two cars now sported bullet holes. While Darryl took the time to reload, I waved for Petya and his girlfriend to come over, and looked past the car to the gate where the guard and the occupants of a now stopped black car were jogging in our direction. One of the guards raised his rifle and fired off a single shot that bounced off the pavement near my feet.

"Let's go!" Darryl shouted to Petya and his girlfriend.

We both headed for the hanger and we came through the open hanger doors with our pistols raised in case any more company was waiting for us. There was none. I stopped just inside the door and waved Darryl towards the plane.

"Start her up: I'll cover them!" I turned around and crouched down.

I watched as Petya and his girlfriend came running across the open tarmac towards the hanger. I took aim at the pursuing Soviet agents and guards, opening fire once again. Gunfire was echoing through the night and the sounds of sirens in the distance were starting up. We didn't have long to get out of this area before police officers and soldiers would be all over the place. Petya and his girlfriend went running past me on to the plane and I emptied the rest of my magazine.

"Get to the plane!" I yelled, not bothering to look back.

"I don't think so!" I suddenly heard a voice behind me.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I saw Petya's girlfriend facing me, with a gun in her hands, and a rather pissed off look on her admittedly pretty features. I slowly rose to stand, the barrel of her gun following me the entire time. The people from the gate had stopped advancing and had taken to making pot-shots towards the hanger entrance. Petya stood halfway between her and the plane, a look of disbelief and shock on his face.

"Sasha, why?" He sounded heart-broken.

"Shut up, traitor!" She snapped, her eyes still on me.

"Petya, get to the plane." I ordered, looking over her shoulder.

He nodded and ran for the plane as fast as he could, only looking back once.

"It doesn't matter: we'll still recapture him." Sasha said, her voice like ice.

I kept looking over her shoulder intently to the back of the hanger. She obviously noticed with the way that she quirked her eyebrow. I saw her eyes dart in that direction for a moment but she couldn't see where I was looking. Apparently she was thin-skinned and easily manipulated because then she made a very _bad_ mistake. She turned her head to try and see what I was looking at, which she would find out too late had been a simply trick, and one that I had been gambling on the success of at that.

I stepped forward and knocked her gun hand up, holding tightly to her wrist. She yelped in surprise as I rotated on my heels, sent an elbow in to her stomach that knocked the wind out of her, and flipped her over my shoulder on to her back. Then I wasted no time in driving a punch down at her. I swear I could _hear_ her windpipe collapsing as much as I could feel it. She laid there on the hanger floor, gasping uselessly. Her face was filled with shock as her eyes looked up to me. In a classy manner, I gave her the middle finger, and then ran to the plane.

Climbing in, I barely had time to shut the door before Petya was suddenly beside me.

"What happened to Sasha?" He had to yell the question over the sound of the plane's engines.

"She's taken care of!" I yelled back.

I didn't say anything else, pushing past him. I patted Darryl on the shoulder to get his attention and gave him the thumbs up. The plane started lurching forward and I moved in to the back of the plane. I placed Petya in a seat and he strapped himself in with shaking hands. Apparently his girlfriend had shook him to his core, despite his experience in the GRU. I took the seat across from him and both Petya and I ducked down when a few rounds punched through the walls.

We stayed down like that until we felt the plane pulling off the ground. Then we both sat up again and I sighed with relief. I grabbed my cigarette pack from my pocket and held it out to Petya. His hands were still shaking as he took one and I lit it up for him. Once the cigarette was gone I watched as he leaned back against the wall and went to sleep. Once I was sure he was alright, I unbuckled, and took the copilot's seat in the cockpit. I barely had time to secure the headphones and strap in before Darryl suddenly started talking to me.

"I was meaning to ask you something." Darryl said, keeping his eyes on flying.

"What's that?" I asked with a yawn.

"When I busted you out: were you in the Trust?" I could tell he was genuinely curious.

I chuckled, "That's classified information Darryl."

"Really: even though I'm a Trustee?" He asked, sounding somewhat shocked.

"Even though you're a Trustee." I yawned again and made myself more comfortable.

* * *

_Even though the only occupants of the office were the Director and the Doctor, the air in the room seemed to be much lighter, but no less filled with tobacco smoke. There was an open envelope on the desk, with papers inside that were each crammed with matte-black type, photographs of the two agents involved, and a photograph of Petya amongst its contents. The ashtray was comparatively unfilled as compared to other times and the Doctor wasn't smoking a cigarette at that particular moment._

"_It's good to see the operation was a success." The Doctor said._

"_Yes, except for his lady." The Director tapped Petya's picture with a single finger._

"_I agree: we should have done more looking first." The Doctor said._

"_Yes, we should have." The Director agreed tersely._

"_Now, what are the plans for Petya?" The Doctor asked._

"_Simple: he's been assigned to help us, he'll be kept away from the headquarters, and he won't officially be a Trustee, but he'll help us on certain field assignments." The Director replied._

"_Very well then: I suppose I should get going." The Doctor said._

_With that, he stood, and headed for the door._

* * *

* = "Orders from Moscow."

**Author's Notes:** Just so you all know, the idea for Petya has been inspired by VerityA and I talking with each other. Anyways, I hope you readers have enjoyed the story so far, and know that I plan on making another chapter soon! I hope that this is exciting and interesting for you all to read. I know it's not as exciting as the CoD games, but keep in mind that this is almost related to those in name only for this specific story.


	4. Chapter 3: DMZ

**Chapter 3: DMZ**

_Well boys, as you all know both North and South Korea are still at odds with each other._

_I know that a lot of you fought there and I hate to bring up any painful memories. Unfortunately, the North Koreans aren't so kind. It seems that they're still a little sore over what happened during the war. They probably wish it had ended up like Vietnam. With Chinese encouragement they've decided to try reigniting the Korean War. For obvious reasons, this wouldn't be beneficial to _anybody_ on either side of the Cold War; not to mention the civilian populations in those two countries if the perspective second stage were to be bad as the first._

_They seem to have taken inspiration from the German dealings with Poland for this one._

_From what we can tell, a North Korean infantry platoon of around fifty men, dressed in South Korean Marines, are going to move towards to the DMZ, and take out a North Korean embassy base. Our job is to make a blue-on-blue situation. A small team will move in to intercept the unit and cause enough damage to scrap the plan for them. If that fails, try to cause enough damage to attract any nearby North Korean units, and let them solve the problem for us._

_We've given you a North Korean Army signals book and some flares for just such an occasion._

_They should know that this is a spoiler attack and they probably won't want to go public because of it. If they try, we'll have our boys in Langley talk some sense in to them. So get out there and do your jobs, boys. Good luck out there._

_._

* * *

.

"_**DMZ"  
**__**April 11th, 1968  
**__**Sergeant Adam Setser  
**__**1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"  
**__**Somewhere 1 and a half miles north of the North/South Korean DMZ**_

For a communist country that had just recently come out of a war that hadn't officially ended yet, it was surprisingly easy to get to the northern side of the 88th Parallel, and move to the position where we were going to set up our ambush. The South Korean government had been contacted by the US and told of the plan. They fell in love with it, begged to help, and as a result the South Korean military's engineers went out near the DMZ to show what irony really meant. The North Koreans loved using tunnels under the DMZ to cross it relatively unobserved and so the military engineers dug us our own tunnels for infiltration and extraction during the operation.

The tunnels each led about half a mile past either side of the DMZ, with groups of South Korean soldiers sitting on the southern side, and there were three in total for when it came time to extract from the area. We had travelled to our planned ambush position with no opposition from the North Korean military. Sure, we ran across some of their patrols, but those were all relatively easy to avoid for the six of us. Now we had all camouflaged ourselves, setting up our ambush. We would be firing down in to a large clearing from the slope of a steep mountain, with a large road on the northern side of the clearing.

Jeremy had been assigned a Remington sniper rifle, Darryl was using a scoped M14, Staff Sergeant Moscerra was using an M16 with an under-slung grenade launcher, Lieutenant Baker had an M16 like Staff Sergeant Moscerra's, Petya was using a simple M16 without the grenade launcher, and I had been assigned an M60 machinegun for the operation. We were all covered with dark green sheets to help us blend in with the local brush while we waited in almost total silence. I was closest to the front of our roughly diamond-shaped formation, with Darryl and Jeremy lying behind me a short distance away.

We had even gone so far as to set up some claymore mines further down the slip in case anybody tried to push a counter assault up the slope. Slowly moving my head to glance at my watch, I checked the time. According to intelligence, the North Korean commandoes would be passing through this area in the next ten minutes or so. Once they were out in the open, we were going to hit them so hard it would knock them back in to last week. If that failed, we'd send up a signal flare so that the nearest North Korean unit would think that there really _were_ South Korean soldiers trying to infiltrate North Korea.

"It's seems kind of strange." I heard Darryl whisper.

"What does?" Jeremy asked.

"How we're stoppin' these guys from attacking a North Korean outpost." Darryl elaborated.

"We're not helping them." I whispered back, "If we do it right: nobody will know it was us."

"True enough." Darryl replied.

"Can it." Lieutenant Baker whispered in a far harsher manner then the rest of us.

I didn't say anything else and instead just looked to my watch once again. According to my watch, it would be five minutes until they passed through, but when I looked back out to the road it seemed that they were early. We all saw them: a trio of men who came out crouching from the tree line, to the other side of the road. It looked like it was a scout team. They would go out, check for hostiles, and if nothing happened then the rest of the unit would come out in to the open. I slowly squeezed my finger around the trigger of the machinegun. Everything seemed to get quieter as we watched the three men.

They looked around, apparently didn't see anything, and crossed the road back in to the tree-line from where they had come. Approximately three minutes later, we watched as a much larger group emerged from the tree-line. There was around forty men overall, all of them moving as cautiously as possible across the road, and out in to the open.

"Here they come." Petya whispered.

"On my mark: light 'em up." Lieutenant Baker sounded uncharacteristically calm.

They began to head for the center of the clearing.

"One...two...three...mark!" Lieutenant Baker yelled at the end, having whispered the count.

I squeezed the trigger of the M60 all the way. It kicked in to my shoulder as I fired in bursts of anywhere from three to eight rounds, approximately. To reduce their ability to track our position, the standard load of every fifth or sixth round being a tracer in the M60 had been changed. Instead every eighth round was a red tracer round, instead of green rounds that were signature of the Western militaries. As a result, I was still able to appropriately adjust my fire, but the enemy soldiers below would have a harder time finding out where it was all coming from initially.

Meanwhile, behind me I could hear Jeremy and Darryl opening fire with their sniper rifles, and the others as they rose to crouch while firing over our heads with their M16s. As we fired, the North Korean soldiers down below all dived for cover, scattering, and only sporadically returning fire. It was obvious that they didn't quite know from which way the fire was coming from because I could see that they were all shooting in multiple directions. Gunfire was echoing across all of the surrounding hills, ringing around everywhere.

"Keep up the fire!" Lieutenant Baker ordered.

"I've got to reload!" I replied.

My one hundred round ammo belt had run dry. I pulled a fresh box of ammo from my vest, feeding the ammo as quickly as I could. Once that was done, I chambered the new round, took aim, and opened fire once again. Behind me I heard the sound of an under-slung grenade launcher firing. A few moments later, I saw an explosion down amongst the North Korean commandoes. It seemed now that they knew generally where the fire was coming from because I could see and hear rounds hitting the trees and surrounding underbrush around us.

"Jesus!" I heard Jeremy suddenly exclaim.

"What is it?" Staff Sergeant Moscerra had to yell over all the gunfire.

"My arm: they shot me in my arm!" Jeremy sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

"Back behind a tree or something, just don't stay out in the open!" Lieutenant Baker ordered.

It was obvious the order was for all of us. I rose up, shedding the green cover that had been helping me blend in, and took cover by crouching behind a thick-looking nearby tree. We continued to fire down at the North Koreans while they fired back up. So far none of them had tried to push on the hill so I hadn't needed to set off the claymore mines yet. Either way, I had a feeling that if we didn't wipe them out soon then we were going to have North Korean border guards swarming all over the place.

"Fuck it, I'm sending up a flare!" Lieutenant Baker yelled.

I didn't need to look back to know that he was loading up the flare gun he had been given for this mission. I heard it fire and didn't look up until I had heard it ignite well above our heads. Glancing up I saw a red parachute flare. According to the signal book we had been given, until they would change the code next month the red flare was a signal to all other North Korean units that there was a contact with enemy forces, and that backup was needed immediately. That meant we probably only had to fight for a bit more before more North Koreans would show up.

Reloading for the third time now, I continued to fire down at the remaining enemy soldiers who had taken cover in the taller grass to be concealed from view. Unfortunately for them, concealment and cover weren't the same thing. Once again, a volley of under-slung grenades fired out in to the clearing, and I could see the explosions just as I finished reloading the "Pig". I was about to take aim when I happened to glance up at the road. Two North Korean jeeps with mounted machineguns came pulling up.

I nearly fired on them, but restrained myself.

The two jeeps started opening fire on the commandos and I couldn't see clearly, but I had a feeling that the commandos were probably firing back if only to try discouraging the men in the jeeps. Unfortunately, it seemed like they had a card up their sleeves that the commandos didn't prepare for because it was about that time when I heard a rumbling over the din of all the gunfire. I could see just past the trees and what I saw made my heart skip a beat. I _knew_ I saw the top of a North Korean tank's turret.

"I think we have a tank!" I yelled back to Lieutenant Baker.

What I said was punctuated by a loud explosion. Looking back, I saw the small North Korean tank from before. It had just fired a round in to the field in an attempt to kill off the commandos.

"We need to leave: now!" Lieutenant Baker yelled, "Setser: leave the claymores!"

Nobody had to say or do anything for him to know we were following his orders. I took the detonator for the claymores, often called a "clacker", and gave it an under-hand toss in a random direction away from our current hide-spot. I rose in to a partial standing position, covering the rest of the team with the M60 as they moved back to the crest of the hill. I knew the commandos probably wouldn't be able to try and push up the hill, but it never hurt to be careful. I glanced back and once I saw the others at the crest, I stopped firing, and ran to catch up with them.

"Primary is just down the hill and through a valley to the north!" Staff Sergeant Moscerra said.

"Then let's move: the Gooks are going to be all over this place!" Lieutenant Baker yelled to us.

We started moving down-hill, with Petya beside me to help cover the rear of the group. Our first destination on the way to our primary extraction was a dried out, deep canal that ran through a heavily forested part of a short valley. From there it was a short sprint across open ground at the end of the forested part of the valley, and then up a nearby short mountain the mouth of the tunnel had been disguised to look like a boring old cave for somebody who didn't know what it really was. Once we were across, the South Korean engineers would blast charges in the tunnel, and collapse it behind us once we were clear.

If everything went according to plan, the North Korean attack would be spoiled, they would get a lovely helping of humble pie, and we'd all be able to kick back while sipping some beers after having just possibly prevented a start to WWIII. Unfortunately for us, that all was a dried out canal, a forested valley, a sprint across open ground, and a quick run up the slope of a mountain away. At any other time, it may have taken thirty minutes to get to the tunnel entrance. In war estimations of time changed radically. That's why none of us were thinking like that right now.

All we were focused on was the _now_: taking it all one step at a time.

"Let's get moving!" I heard Darryl shout from near the front of the group.

We headed down-hill as quickly as we could, listening to the gunfire fading on the other side of the hill. Lieutenant Baker was right: first the Gooks would check out the commandos, then they would investigate the hill to see who it was that had sent up the flare, and after they found out from other units that there had been no patrols in that area then all hell would break loose. Helicopters, search parties, and everything else would be dedicated to finding out who it was that had engaged the commandos. It wouldn't take them long to realize something was up.

If all things went according to plan, we would be in the tunnel before they came out in force.

We ran in to the canal, a two-lane paved road on our left now, and the hill on our right. As we ran, we could suddenly hear gunfire coming from the hill once again. I glanced back to see the silhouettes of North Korean border guards who had just spotted us. They were firing inaccurately, with most of their rounds hitting the street, or the areas around us. I turned around and fired a quick burst from the M60 to try making them keep their heads down.

"Tangos on our six!" I called to the front of the group.

"Keep moving!" I heard Staff Sergeant Moscerra yell.

I kept back-pedaling, firing at the advancing North Korean soldiers. There was obviously quite a lot of them. Whoever had sent them must have been extremely cautious because it seemed that whenever I shot one, suddenly another one or two would come to replace that one. It had been obvious from the start that we were outnumbered but this was just starting to get ridiculous. I kept firing bursts of M60 rounds in the general direction of the enemy. Once I saw that we were starting to enter a more heavily forested area, I turned and started simply running along with the rest of the group as fast as we could.

"They're right on our tail!" Petya yelled.

"We know!" Was Staff Sergeant Moscerra's response.

As we reached the edge of the trees, being shot at the whole way, we all heard a very distinct sound in the distance, and I couldn't help but look to the sky. The sound was coming from the north east; behind us. A HIND gunship came swooping in to view from behind a particularly large hill. I knew that it was more than capable of ripping us to shreds with its nose cannon or missiles. I once again turned, firing my M60 wildly in its general direction. By now my belt had just come up empty and I knew I couldn't take the time to reload right now. Instead, I opted to just keep running as fast as I could.

"We're almost there!" I heard Lieutenant Baker yell back to the rest of us.

It was true that we were making good progress, but the HIND was making far better progress.

"It's closing on us!" Petya yelled, and I could hear the fear in his voice.

"Just keep mo-..." I didn't get to finish.

How it didn't kill us, I don't know, but it simply didn't. The pilot's gunner fired a single missile at our group and it had slammed in to the ground near us. While the others were simply forced to stumble or cringe from falling dirt: Petya and I weren't so lucky. In one moment I was running along, and in the next I was suddenly being picked in to the air. I dropped my M60 as I did a complete front-flip: landing with a grunt on my back. Petya twirled through the air. The others kept running towards the cave: they couldn't afford to stop just for us. I could afford to help them as much as possible, though.

I unhooked my pack as the HIND began to come overhead of Petya and I. Scrambling for my M60 moments later, I grabbed it, sat up, and began firing in to the belly of the helicopter from behind. I must have hit something because I watched as the helicopter wavered for a few moments and something looking like oil or fuel began leaking from the bottom. Its pilot apparently decided that it wasn't worth it. I watched it make a wide arch and start its way back to wherever it was that it came from. I moved over to Petya, who was lying face-down on the ground, and not moving. I prayed he wasn't dead as I turned him over.

He grit his teeth in protest.

Looking down to his thigh, I could see why. There was a piece of shrapnel the same diameter as a baseball in his upper thigh. As I heard North Koreans shouting off in the distance behind me, I knew there was no way I could possibly drag or carry him to the cave, and the team couldn't afford to turn back. I closed my eyes, clenching a fist in anger.

I was going to be captured.

_Again_.

I could only pray that the North Koreans wouldn't be as brutal to me as the North Vietnamese.

.

* * *

_._

_The air in the office was thick, with a thick layer of smoke intermingling with an overbearing sense of what could best be described as grim disappointment. The Director hadn't even lit his most recent cigar yet, and had instead opted to chew on it as he looked to the papers and photographs spread out on his desk. The Doctor had a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers and his brow was furrowed: his eyes hidden from view by light reflecting off his lenses._

"_So Sgt. Setser was captured?" The Director asked._

_His tone made it sound more like a statement, however._

_The Doctor gave a small nod, "As well as the Russian: Petya."_

"_Do we know where they're being held?" The Director retrieved his lighter from his desk, now._

"_We've found their position: the North Koreans have kept them together." The Doctor replied._

_The Director let out a heavy sigh, "What are the chances of rescue?"_

"_Minimal." The Doctor shook his head, "Unless they get across the border: they're gone."_

_Neither man even moved as everything seemed to get very, _very_ quiet._

"_What about our boys in Moscow?" The Director suddenly asked._

_._

* * *

.

**Author's Notes:** I finally managed to overcome my writer's block for this chapter. Well that means we're one more chapter closer to the end of this epic tale. Don't worry, though. The end is still a bit further away.


	5. Chapter 4: A Shocking Turn of Events

**Chapter 4: A Shocking Turn of Events**

_I hope these orders find you well, Comrade Colonel._

_Our mutual superiors have recently uncovered something of paramount importance involving that recent fiasco with our Communist brothers in North Korea. I apologize for dragging you away from your current assignment on such short notice, but this requires your immediate and undivided attention, Comrade._

_I know that I do not need to remind you _not_ to discuss this matter with anybody else, Comrade. This must be maintained, even in relation to our Communist brothers in North Korea._

_Your orders are in the envelope._

_._

* * *

.

"_**A Shocking Turn of Events"  
June 21st, 1968  
Sergeant Adam Setser  
1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"  
A North Korean prison camp 7 miles north of the DMZ**_

When they had first captured us, life was hell.

That was to be expected.

Over the course of a month, we had been taken from camp to camp, and from torture chamber to torture chamber. It was brutal. Then something seemed to change when one of our "interrogators" discovered that Petya wasn't an American like me. The brutality went on for about a week until a man started coming in to our cell and having Petya taken off somewhere. The man was a Russian officer and he looked like intelligence to me. I quickly deduced that he was trying the "Kill 'em with Kindness" approach with Petya. All the torture stopped and we were actually given regular meals.

It was weird.

It almost didn't feel _right_ in a way. Not being tortured, that was.

I hadn't expected such "kind" treatment from the North Koreans just to get somebody to talk.

Now though, our cell was silent. It was to be expected that prisoners of war would feel downtrodden, but Petya had come back with an air of particular dread about him this time. He was sitting on the pitiful excuse for a bed across from me, one hand fiddling with the loose edge of a stained bandage that covered his wound. That was another thing: they had taken particular care of his wound recently. He didn't seem to have much problem walking anymore. I couldn't stand seeing him like this, though.

After having killed his traitor of a girlfriend, I had felt a bit bad.

Now, after being captured, I felt like we were all the other had.

It didn't matter how "nice" the officer was: he had a motive. They all did.

If we were going to stay strong, we had to support each other.

Petya hadn't said a word since they had returned him to our cell maybe...an hour ago. He just sat at the edge of the bed with an expression of gloom and depression. I didn't say anything at first, just looking at the blood stains on my tiger stripe-patterned pants. After a few minutes, I started to glance up to him from time to time, and seeing if he was going to start talking. He didn't.

I whispered, not wanting to alert the guard out in the hall, "Petya: what's wrong?"

He was totally silent.

"What is going on, Petya?" I urged, trying my hardest to keep my voice at a whisper.

He didn't even look up, "They're going to shoot us."

The gravity of what he just said suddenly settled in the air. I had expected that they might at least kill me soon, what with their being so fascinated with Petya, but I hadn't expected that it would be both of us. Then again, I knew that Petya wasn't going to tell them anything. Apparently, whatever had gone on during Petya's "meetings" with the Russian officer must have irritated he and his superiors so much that they wanted to just get rid of both of us. It was almost hard to believe that this was how it was going to end for me.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

He gave a minute nod of his head, "Later today: they're going to execute us."

"For what?" I asked, "Crimes against the "glorious" people?"

I couldn't help that sudden outburst of sarcasm. I guess it was just a defense mechanism for me.

"Exactly." Petya didn't sound amused at my sarcasm, "They want to get rid of us."

"So that's it then...there's nothing we can do." I shook my head slowly.

Of all the ways I thought I would die in this job, this wasn't one of them. I had thought that I might be shot by enemy agents in some far away country, or get killed doing something crazy like jumping roof tops while getting shot at. I hadn't imagined that my final moments as a Trustee, would be out in the jungles of a piss-hole country, and that the last thing I'd see would be some dirty lil' Gook with an AK pointed at me. I was right, though. There wasn't a thing we could do about this whole situation. We were dead men walking.

I made myself comfortable on my bed.

If I was going to die, then it was going to be as well-rested as possible.

.

* * *

.

You never realize how grim the sound of a lock can be until you've been captured.

I could hear the one on the hall door being turned as I laid on my bed.

I could hear what sounded like two North Koreans, whispering to each other as they moved closer to our cell. I looked to the cell door but I didn't get up from my bed yet. The sun was slowly starting to set and some orange rays of light came through the tiny window of our cell: shining on the opposite wall out in the hallway. The two North Korean soldiers appeared, with Kalashnikov rifles in their hands, and disapproving expressions on their faces. They always had those: both the guns and the looks. Then the Russian officer stepped in between the two men, standing in front of the cell door.

He looked completely ambivalent as he retrieved our cell key from his coat pocket.

The lock to our cell door sounded rusty and old as it scraped its way in to the open position. The officer opened the door and the two North Koreans stepped in. They both took a moment to stop short of Petya and I, looking back to the Russian. It looked like they had wanted to start yelling at us and beating on us, but I guess the Russian had ordered them not to earlier. Wasn't it Churchill who said something about it not costing anything to be polite when you're about to kill somebody? Well, I guess the Russian must have read up on the guy. Instead the two soldiers just motioned impatiently for the two of us to stand up.

We both did. Slowly.

It wasn't like we were trying to make them angry, but it wasn't like we were overflowing with energy at the thought of walking to our death. The soldiers, though obviously very irritated, were patient enough to not start beating on us, and waited until we were both fully standing before ushering us to the cell door. However, neither of us got to see the trip out of the prison facility. Instead, the soldiers retrieved some sort of burlap sacks, and Petya and I had them tied up at our necks to prevent us from seeing anything except what little light trickled in through the fabric. A few moments after that and both of us were turned around to be handcuffed by the Russian officer. It was after that when they began walking us through the halls of the facility.

Then we were sent up a flight of cement steps.

From there, we were tossed gruffly in to the back of a truck, and I could hear the gate slam shut. The metal of the truck-bed felt cold, but it wasn't like I was going to complain. In a weird way, I was kind of enjoying it. It was one of the last things I was going to be able to enjoy before I died. It was still frustrating. I hated every commie' SOB in this God-forsaken country, but there was nothing I could do to stop these particular ones from killing me. Petya was still silent: not making a noise, save for when the bumps that the truck hit made us bump shoulders with each other. I didn't make much effort to speak, either.

It stayed that way for at least fifteen minutes until the truck eased to a stop.

I could hear the tail gate drop and the soldiers grabbed us by our boots: pulling us to the tail gate. They made sure not to pull us completely to the ground and let us stand by ourselves once they had gotten us there. Then they pulled off our masks and I took in the sudden change of scenery. We were surrounded by trees, with no signs of civilization in sight, and with only the five of us to be seen. Petya and I were marched to stand in front of a particularly large tree. There we stood as the two North Korean soldiers stood across from us with their rifles in their hands. Meanwhile, the Russian officer stood halfway between each pair, and faced to Petya and I.

"You have been charged with crimes against the glorious Communist regime of North Korea." He spoke in remarkably good English, "As well as being spies, for which you can be executed without a trial."

What happened next was too fast for me to recognize at first.

I watched as the Russian officer pulled his pistol from his holster, turned around, and shot both of the North Korean soldiers before they could fully raise their rifles. Both of them hit the ground, each with a single gunshot wound to the chest. The Russian officer looked over his shoulder at the two of us before holstering his pistol. He approached the two of us, and roughly turned each of us around. A few moments later and I was rubbing my wrists to restore circulation while turning to face the officer.

"I'm going to tell them you got away." The officer said, holding his pistol out to Petya, "You two took my pistol from me while I was talking, shot both of these men, and knocked me out. When I woke up, you were both gone from the area." He pointed off to the distance, "The border is seven miles that way: a small motor pool is one mile in the same direction in case you feel that you need to "acquire" a ride."

We both watched as he turned and walked to the jeep. There, he sat in the driver's seat and watched us. Neither Petya nor I moved, fearing that it might be a trap. When he didn't do anything else, the two of us moved to the bodies of the North Korean soldiers. I put one's vest on over my stained tan t-shirt, took all of his ammo, the two grenades he carried on him, and his assault rifle. I made sure to grab a compass the soldier had on him, as well. Once we were both equipped once more, Petya and I turned away, and started in to the wilderness. I was curious as to why the officer was doing this but I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Petya and I moved quickly but quietly. It would have helped if the guy had given us a map, or at least I thought he hadn't at first, and then I saw Petya fishing around in his back pocket when we took a brief moment to rest behind a fallen log. I looked at it and he must have seen the expression on my face because he stopped looking at it to explain.

"He apparently slipped this in my pocket when he was un-cuffing me." Petya reasoned.

I rolled my eyes, "Awful nice of him."

Petya shrugged, "He took the time to mark the motor pool out, too."

"Why don't I feel like he's just letting us go out of the kindness of his heart?" I asked.

Petya quirked a brow at me now, "Everybody has an agenda, Adam."

I didn't say anything else, simply handing the compass I had gotten to Petya. That seemed to be true enough since I had been in the Trust. Everybody had a motive, an objective, or some reason to be doing whatever it was that they were doing. I brushed that thought from my mind and opted to simply focus on keeping watch while Petya examined the map. Whoever that Russian officer, for whatever reason, had let us off, and that meant we had at least had some sort of chance for making it south of the DMZ...assuming border guards didn't shoot us on sight. We still had to stick together, too. Just like back in the prison.

"Are you ready to move?" I asked, getting impatient after a few moments.

"He left some notes: there are canvas trucks at the motor pool." Was Petya's reply.

"Then let's get going!" I urged, "The sooner we get out of here: the better."

Petya put away the map, "Alright then: we hit the motor pool and make our way for the DMZ."

.

* * *

.

The last mile of travel for us had gone totally unopposed. We had moved quietly, staying off the roads, and trying our best to avoid silhouetting ourselves on the top of any hills. Twice we had nearly run in to enemy foot-patrols, but so far we had made our way to the motor pool without any opposition. Now, though, it had started to rain. Thick, fat drops of rain came down from the canopy, and landed irritatingly on our heads as Petya and I observed the motor pool's perimeter from a short distance away.

We were staying crouched amongst some especially think plant cover: trying to decide what vehicle we should take. We wanted something in the open, easy to get to, and we both preferred that it be at least somewhat fast. So far Petya had suggested a simple canvas-covered flat-bed truck, I had suggested an open-topped jeep, and neither had seemed to be good enough for a combination of speed and protection from North Korean rounds. We only had a pair of Kalashnikovs to defend ourselves with, after all. Then I noticed something just inside a motor pool, halfway in and halfway out of the garage door.

It was a truck.

To be more specific: it was a flat-bed mounting what looked to be a medium or heavy machinegun. It wasn't the fastest thing they probably had, but that machinegun would definitely be good for making sure that our pursuers would have one hell of a problem. Not to mention the ammo canisters I could see that were secured by a net to the back of the cab. I didn't even say a word to Petya, instead just patting him on the shoulder, and pointing to the vehicle. He gave me a nod of agreement and we both started making our way to the fenced-off perimeter.

We knew there was a back gate with a pair of guards.

It was fortunate that it was hidden by a section of the motor pool. We would just take out those two guards, sneak in to the motor pool, quickly and quietly eliminate any of the guards in there, hot-wire the truck, and then drive out of there to the border as fast as we possibly could. We'd ditch it just short of the border; head in to the wilderness, and cross the border while hopefully avoiding the watchful eye of the South Korean border patrol. Right now, though, we had to focus on what was just ahead of us, and so we moved through the foliage and trees around the two rear-gate guards as covertly as possible.

I moved slowly, crouching low to the ground.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten to grab a knife from the North Korean guard I had gotten my other equipment from. I couldn't even remember if he had one with him at the time. Either way, the point was that I didn't have one, and so that meant that I would just have to kill the guard with my rifle. I wasn't very disappointed by the thought as I moved within six feet of the guard I was going to kill. Neither of the men were very attentive and the heavy rain covered any noise we might have been making as it hit all of the leaves around us. Glancing past the two guards, I saw that Petya was in position, and I sprung in to action.

I came from behind one of the two guards, bringing my rifle in front of his throat. He barely had time to gasp in surprise as I smashed it against his wind-pipe. The stupid idiot dropped his rifle in shock, grabbing at my own in an attempt to save his life. His partner, who was about to shoot at us with his own rifle, was suddenly struck across the back of the head, and fell to the ground. Tripping up the man I was wrestling with, I sent him face-first in to the ground, and wrangled my rifle out of his grasp. I repeated to beat him repeatedly in the back of the head and neck with the stock until I was sure he was dead. To be honest, I wanted to beat him some more to relief some of my pent-up anger, but I had a job to do.

Panting, I searched his pockets and belt for a key.

While I was at it, I took a knife he had on his belt, and secured it to my vest. Turning around, I watched as Petya tried to push the gate open as quietly as possible. We moved in slowly, heading for the back door of the motor pool. Petya took point as we went: both of us keeping a constant eye on everything around us. We could hear people in the other parts of the camp moving around; completely oblivious to our presence. As we approached the door I just silently prayed that nobody was coming to visit those two guards any time soon. Petya slowly reached for the handle of the door and pulled it open, moving to the side, and letting me take point.

The first person I saw was a North Korean man standing at a desk.

With the way he was dressed, he looked to be a low-ranking officer. He was going over papers of some kind and seemed completely shut off from his surroundings. The room was large and rectangular, with various filing cabinets, and tables. There was a hallway just to the man's left, leading away from us, and with a door leading to where the truck was being kept. At least that's where I assumed it led. There was nobody else in the room. With a quick signal, Petya quietly shut the door behind us, and kept an eye on both doors as I let my AK hang from its sling. Drawing my knife, I moved towards him at a crouch I tried to stay as quiet as possible.

As I approached the man, I instantly snapped in to a standing position. I clasped one hand over his mouth and drove the knife in to his back. He tried fighting me off but with four more quick stabs to the same general area, he quickly stopped struggling, and I slowly lowered him to the floor. Wiping the blade off on his tunic, I looked to Petya as he moved to the door which would lead us out in to the garage. I moved in behind him as he began to push the door open with one hand. I stayed right behind him to act as security.

Stepping on to the cement floor of the garage, we could hear people outside in the rest of the compound, but the garage itself seemed to be empty of any North Korean soldiers. That meant if we were quick then we'd hopefully be able to start up the truck before anybody could even get a shot off at us. We both took cover at the rear of the truck we were going to take, out of view from anybody outside the garage.

"Keep an eye out, I'll hot-wire the truck." Petya whispered.

I gave a small nod, "You've got it: now get the job done."

Petya moved from cover, down the driver's side of the truck, and tested the door. When he found that it was unlocked, he opened it as quietly as possible, and slipped in to the cab. He stayed below the dash-board while he tried to find the appropriate wires. Looking out past the truck, I kept my eyes on anybody close to the garage. The closest group I could see was a trio of North Korean soldiers around some crates. They were casually conversing with each other, two of them seemed to be smoking, and they were totally unaware of what was going on. I could hear a few rustling sounds from the cab as Petya continued hot-wiring the car.

"I think I've nearly got it." I heard Petya whisper just loud enough for me to hear.

Suddenly the rear lights started flashing. I froze in place as I saw one of the three guards I had been observing look our way. He then pointed the truck out to his two friends and they began to make their way over to the garage.

"Petya, you just alerted some guards." I whispered urgently.

"Just give me a few more moments." Petya replied.

The guards were getting closer. We didn't have a few more moments! I looked to the machinegun on the back of the truck and I could see there was already an ammo box loaded. I quickly pulled myself on to the bed of the truck, made sure it was ready to fire, and brought it to bear on the three guards. They all barely had time to start running as I opened fire. I cut the three of them down and the whole base suddenly came to life. I could see soldiers running from place to place, an alarm started going off, and soon enough there were rounds hitting the building as they opened fire. I returned the favor, keeping their heads down as best I could.

Then the truck roared to life, its diesel engine sounding like a throaty purr.

"I've got it, now let's go!" Petya slammed the door to the cab shut moments later.

The truck lurched in to gear and pulled out of the garage. I wildly scanned from left to right, firing wherever I saw a North Korean uniform, and Petya started accelerating for the front gate were another trio of guards were firing at the cab of the truck in an attempt to stop us. They stayed at their post until the last moment, when they dived out of the way to avoid the oncoming truck. The chain-link gate didn't stand a chance against the speeding truck and busted open instantly. I turned the machinegun around and began firing in to the base as we pulled away. We were so close. I could barely believe that we were so close to freedom!

Then the North Koreans managed to come up with a stronger response.

A pair of open-topped jeeps came tearing out from the motor pool after us. Each one had a machinegun on the back of it and a man in the passenger seat who would take periodical pot-shots at the truck. I focused on the two machinegun operators first, watching as the first one was hit so hard by a quick burst from my own machinegun that he was thrown completely out of the jeep. The second had just started firing at us when I opened fire on him. He fell to the floor of the jeep, his hand catching in the trigger, and sending a spray of bullets up and to my left in a dramatic, Hollywood-style fashion. His gun was still firing with his hand caught in the grip.

For that same jeep, I instantly shifted down to the driver.

He tried to duck but he couldn't do it in time. His windshield was torn to pieces and jolted about wildly in his seat from my machinegun fire. The jeep, now uncontrolled, went serving off the road, and flipped twice as its remaining living occupant was thrown out, and bounced along the ground a few yards from the jeep. The second jeep had begun to pull over and when I looked to the man in the passenger seat, I could tell that he wasn't aiming at me. He was yelling in to the radio, or that's what it looked like. He was calling for reinforcements! I covered the front of the jeep in sweeping machinegun fire. The jeep turned off to the side of the road in a less dramatic fashion than the first, slowing to a stop instead of flipping.

Looking around, it seemed to be clear, and so I went about the process of reloading the machinegun as quickly as possible. Once that was done, I suddenly found I had use for it once again. Even over the sound of passing wind and the truck's engine, I could hear the sound of a North Korean attack helicopter coming towards us. I began to desperately scan the sky for the incoming chopper, just as I had before with the one that got Petya and I captured. Soon I saw it peeking out from a hill to my left, coming in low and fast.

I saw its nose cannon come to life and watched as rounds tore in to the road just behind us. Then it closed in, releasing a pair of missiles that went just over the truck, in to the tree-line. I took aim, opening fire with a long burst aimed for what I knew to be the gunner's bubble. The HIND went over us, circling around in a wide arc, and coming in to a position behind us. I took aim for the pilot's bubble this time. I opened fire with a series of short bursts and I must have hit something because I could see it in the helicopter. It fish-tailed to the left, began to lose altitude, and plummeted out of sight in to the trees. I could see the ball of fire from the explosion.

It didn't seem like anybody else was catching up with us, but I kept scanning just to be safe. Eventually the truck slowed down and Petya pulled off the road. I watched as we went far enough in to the tree-line to avoid being seen from the road and came to a stop. I had already hopped off the bed of the truck before Petya had gotten all the way out of the cab. Neither of us needed to say a word. We both knew that we had to get to safety before more North Korean soldiers showed up to kill or recapture us.

We made good ground from the truck, and Petya was sure by looking at the map that we were _just_ across the border. That meant we were almost home. Now we would just need to get to a US embassy or consulate...or something. Our superiors had never been very clear on what to do if we broke ourselves out of a prison camp. Mostly, I think, they just expected for us to be killed by our captors, or that a rescue team would be able to come for us like they had for me in Vietnam. Well now they would have to add this in to the book, if they hadn't already.

We were more relaxed with the knowledge that we were across the border. We knew that we didn't need to worry about North Korean strike teams. They would want to be quiet about everything that had happened: the families of those soldiers would be given a tale about training accidents, and the officers would be told that we had never been there. They'd probably be too proud to admit being one-upped by a pair of captured spies. If they threatened not to, I was sure our negotiators back in the States would get them to back down. With this knowledge, Petya and I made the mistake of being decidedly less cautious.

As we moved to cross a section of road in the setting sun, we were suddenly set upon by a single South Korean jeep that had been coming around the hill from which we had just been observing the road. Three men got out of the jeep and began shouting at us angrily. Petya and I wasted no time in hastily dropping our rifles. From there it was a simple matter of keeping our hands up in the air as one of the men approached us. I was almost in disbelief that it had been the South Koreans who captured us now. Well, at least this time we knew our own government would be able to get us out of _their_ jail cells.

.

* * *

.

_The Director browsed over the report, "I'm impressed."_

"_I agree: it seems like nothing can keep Mr. Setser tied up." The Doctor gave a small smile._

"_What about their mental evaluations?" The Director asked, setting the report on his desk._

_The Doctor tapped on another packet on the desk, "Both of them cleared just fine."_

"_So they're ready for field service?" The Director asked._

"_As right as rain, after some recuperation, of course." The Doctor's smile grew ever so slightly._

_The news they had gotten from South Korea had been a shock to everybody in the Trust. Anybody who had enough security clearance to know about the Trust had thought for sure that Adam and Petya were both dead, or if not executed yet, then rotting away in some prison cell with no hope of freedom. Then the South Koreans had called them with the strange report of two dirty, armed white men who had been intercepted by South Korean border guards. They had kept them in a prison down in the city of Ulsan. The report on the two men matched Adam and Petya._

_A Trustee under the guise of a diplomat had been sent to meet them in prison._

_His report had stated that the two of them both had the same story: a Russian officer had been about to shoot them. Then, strangely enough, the officer had shot the soldiers with them, and let them go. He had even given them a map! The South Koreans had tried interrogating them as well, but hadn't been able to make any ground with them. The Trustee sent to meet them seemed to be very proud of that fact in his report. The Trustee got them taken back to the United States under the guise of a need for "further examination" from his superiors._

_Medical reports had passed, they had been mentally evaluated, and both of them were deemed clear for service. The psychiatrist who had been examining them noted that they both seemed to be very close. Nothing too serious, but they seemed to have forged a close friendship while the two of them had been incarcerated in North Korea. It seemed that their imprisonment had accelerated the formation of that natural trust between brothers-in-arms._

_The Director smiled with satisfaction, "It's good to know there back. We have a new mission and I think I'd like to send them on it as soon as they can get back in the field: we need our best."_

.

* * *

.

**Author's Notes:** Wow...I can't believe I had so much trouble with writer's block on this chapter! I feel as if, because of it, that the product did suffer in the end, and so I apologize to all the people who read this story. I feel so excited, though! I have a bunch of exciting things that are coming up and I can't wait to write it! It's going to be amazing, with explosion, spy planes, and all sorts of other action! I have said too much, though. Keep your eyes out for the next chapter!

Remember that constructive criticism and reviews are always welcomed!


	6. Chapter 5: A Relaxing Game of Bridge

**Chapter 5: A Relaxing Game of Bridge**

_Petya, Adam: it's good to have both of you back. I hope you enjoy the promotion to a Staff Sergeant, Adam. Now you get the pleasure of jumping right from the frying pan, in to the fire._

_The CIA has recently detected a lot of transmissions coming through about something the Soviets are calling "ERMINE". Normally the boys in the CIA wouldn't bother us with this information, but the channels that it's being sent on are alarming. They wouldn't give us the details, but the CIA is saying the fact that _these_ people are talking about it means that it _has_ to be important. We were asked to some digging and we've come up with some useful information._

_With the help of some CIA operatives, we managed to track some information about "ERMINE", or at least the trail it's leaving. The info goes through so many relay stations that it's not even funny. We've traced one of these to a military train station in southern Russia, near the border of North Korea. They have a facility on the coast-line where they have been routing some information. I'm not going to say this will be easy, because it won't be. That's why we're sending in two different teams for this operation._

_The first will be heading in to the military compound. Their job is to infiltrate the facility, find the server the Russians are using for the information, get any files on whatever "ERMINE" is, and extract. Hopefully they can do all of this while remaining unnoticed. If not, then that's where team two comes in to play. The Russians have a rail station and bridge approximately one mile west of the facility in question. The second team will move in to a position at the station. If they receive word of the first team compromised, they'll move in to action._

_Team two has been provided with information on structural weak-points of the bridge._

_The C4 that the second team will have should be noise enough if it's needed._

.

* * *

.

"_**A Relaxing Game of Bridge"  
January 2nd, 1969  
Petty Officer First Class Darryl Birdsong  
1st Army Research Division, a.k.a "the Trust"  
A military train station 3 miles north of the North Korea/Russia border**_

.

Our insertion had gone off without a hitch so far, if you could really say that it was far enough along to fairly judge it. The car we were in was labeled as a shipment of winter clothing bound for North Korea. There were several other cars of the train that we had been told were apparently supplies for the guards in the station. We had been told by Lieutenant Baker that it meant the Soviet guards probably wouldn't bother to look at our cart. I hoped not. If they sounded the alarm on us so soon, it would be only Adam, Jeremy, and I to make a stand against the Soviet army in a wooden train car. We wouldn't last ten minutes.

I understood while they only sent the three of us, though. The data was the priority.

Lieutenant Baker, Staff Sergeant Moscerra (excuse me, Sergeant _First Class_ Moscerra), Petya, and two recently recruited Trustees were being sent to extract the information from the computers. If all things went well, we could just sneak out of the station, and call in for our extraction. Looking at Adam, though: I didn't feel so confident about the operation. Maybe it was because he didn't have Petya with him, or maybe he just had a bad feeling, but the man just looked plain _grim_ as I watched him from across the sliding door of the train car.

Then again, I guess spending close to six or seven years in prison camps can do that to a man. He had even been in the "Hanoi Hilton" for a while. Either way, he looked like the Grim Reaper. His expression was grim, with black striped camouflage paint across his features. He had a black beanie cap pulled down over his close-cut hair and he had thick stubble on his jaw. Besides that, the winter camouflage he was wearing just made him look _evil_ for some reason, as he watched the passing scenery through a space between two planks of wood.

He was clutching an M16 tightly: the same rifle we were all using for this mission. It wasn't like the problem-riddled ones from Vietnam, though. No, ours had been given the modifications and improvements that McNamara hadn't put in them during the war in Vietnam. Besides that, we were good soldiers, and we had been trained to keep them clean on an almost religious level. Besides that he had a silenced pistol, and across his back he was carrying a scoped M14 rifle. Adam looked like he was ready to take on the world...or at least some Russians.

I myself had an M16, but instead of an M14 I was carrying a 12-guage Mossberg 500 shotgun. I glanced behind me to _Corporal_ Jeremy Creed. He was praying, or at least that's what it looked like because he was holding a necklace tightly in one gloved hand. He had the handle of his M16 in his free hand and the stock of his M79 grenade launcher on his back. To be honest, I almost felt like the kid's older brother. Yeah, he had been in the Trust longer than me, but I was older, _and_ it went without mention that I outranked him. The kid was good though: he got in to the Trust when he had still been a Private. Most people were usually at _least_ a Sergeant.

Adam suddenly broke the silence in the car, "Are you ready for this, Darryl?"

I looked back and saw he was watching me intently with those hazel eyes of his.

I nodded, "You got it, Adam."

It was then that I noticed the train was gradually coming to a stop. I could tell this because of the slowing speed of everything outside, as well as the fact that the train was rattling a lot less than it had before. Peering out from an opening in the car, which was one of many, I watched as the scenery quickly changed from hills, trees, and snow, to a flat concrete platform, and various crates and other things. Off to the left on this large, cluttered concrete platform. It went off to my left and I could tell it was an unloading platform.

"_Juliet to Yankee."_ Lieutenant Baker suddenly came through our ear-pieces.

Adam grabbed the radio secured to his vest, "This is Yankee: go Juliet."

"_Are you in position, Yankee?"_ Lieutenant Baker asked.

"Affirmative: the train just pulled up to the station, over." Adam replied, still looking outside.

"_Rodger that, Yankee. Keep us posted."_ Lieutenant Baker replied, _"Juliet, over and out."_

Adam looked up to me, quirking a single brow, and giving me a look that asked if I was ready. I gave him a single nod and then watched as he slowly pushed open the door enough for the three of us to hop out one at a time. Once we were all out and taking cover by a large collection of crates to the left of the door, I heard Jeremy slide it shut once again. I watched Adam from behind as he peered around our cover, further down the loading ramp. He held up a single hand, signaling us: one tango. He gave me the signal to take the guy out.

I moved past Adam, shouldering my M16, and took in everything ahead of me. On the left were more train cars; while on the right were more crates, and a row of two train cars that had their wheels taken off. Straight ahead in this "alley" of containers was a single Russian soldier. He had one hand on the front of his AK-47, while warming the other over a fire in a large barrel in front of him. It was obvious that he had no idea we were behind him and he was probably only there so his commander could tell his superiors that they were guarding his area. I drew my knife, letting my M16 hang by its sling in front of me.

I moved forward as a light snow began to come down. I could see as I got closer that his rifle didn't have a sling and so I prayed that the cliché wouldn't happen when I stabbed him that it would go off when he dropped it. Preparing myself, I lunged for the man, and tackled him to the ground. He didn't even have time to cry out in surprise, as I pressed his face against the cement, and stabbed him in the back of the skull. His body went totally limp: his brain scrambled. I looked up to see Jeremy and Adam moving past me to the end of the two train cars, where there was a gap between a cement-walled building, and the train cars.

Jeremy signaled back to us: two tangos, one with a shotgun. With a few quick signals from Adam, he and I moved past Jeremy to take care of the situation. Turning the corner, I saw that the area was more of a square-shaped clearing, surrounded by more crates, and two train cars stacked on top of each other opposite the two of us. To the left, just past a line of seven or eight crates was an archway, over which hung a pair of Russian flags. Two guards stood around one barrel, warming their hands, and talking to each other casually. Adam and I both slowly moved in from the side of the two men: unnoticed.

We both drew our pistols, silenced Colt .45 pistols, and I crouched down to take aim at the man on the left. Adam fired first and the man on the right fell to the ground with a bullet in the side of his head. The other man was about to turn and raise his rifle when I took him down with two shots to the chest. He fell to the ground with a _thud_. Jeremy emerged from cover and we all moved to stand just inside the tunnel/arch structure. From our position in the shade of the structure, we could see the bridge, and all the way down the length of it to the other side. There was a long drop down to the icy waters below.

The pavement changed in to a metal cat-walk, with a balcony-style area just in front of us that went along a rocky cliff-face. We could see from our position that the platform ahead of us had a flight of stairs, which lead to a steel door, which would take us under the bridge. From there we would plant the C4 we had been given, get off the bridge, and blast it down in to the valley below if Lieutenant Baker's team gave the word. I just prayed that they didn't. I looked to Adam as he once again grabbed his radio.

"Yankee to Juliet." Adam whispered.

There was a brief silence before Lt. Baker whispered, _"Go, Yankee."_

"We are moving in to position at the bridge and are requesting a SITREP." Adam asked.

"_We've just made it inside the perimeter."_ Lt. Baker replied.

Adam gave an unnecessary nod, "Affirmative, Juliet. Yankee out."

I took point once again as we moved on to the platform. The bridge itself was only thirteen feet above us, with a cat-walk on the side, and it looked like there was a guard patrolling it off in the distance. We didn't pay him any mind as I pulled open the door: keeping my M16 trained ahead of me. We moved in single-file and Jeremy slowly pulled the door shut behind us. We looked around and saw that we were in a cramped sort of maintenance room, with a pair of red bulbs on the roof, along with pipes and wiring on the walls. There was an already open hatch, with a ladder that went down to a catwalk under the bridge. Now we simply played the waiting game: hoping and praying that we wouldn't get the call from Lt. Baker.

Six minutes later, our hopes were dashed.

"_Juliet to Yankee: we've been compromised!"_ Lt. Baker was yelling over gunfire.

"Affirmative Juliet, Yankee is starting operation." Adam still sounded calm yet urgent.

I was first down through the hatch, not even bothering to use the ladder. I landed in a crouch and took aim at a bewildered guard around seven feet away. He had whirled around upon my landing and I hit him with a three round burst to his chest. He jolted back, spraying a burst of bullets wildly in to the wall beside him. Just behind him was an open doorway, out of which a Russian guard sprang moments after his partner hit the ground dead. I heard an M16 fire just above my head as Adam shot the man with a three-round burst to his chest.

That man was thrown to the side by the force of impact, falling over the railing, and falling over the edge without a single sound. I rose up, moving to the doorway, and sweeping the hall as I entered. Directly across from me was another guard, standing on a platform just like the one we had been on. Another quick burst dropped him as I turned to a doorway to my right, between the one I had just come through, and the guard I had just killed. Moving through, I saw the catwalk. Each segment was a pair of wide rectangles, connected to each other with very little space in the middle. There were three sets, with support beams for the rail bridge bracketing the center set.

A quartet of guards was on the two rectangular catwalk platforms that we came out on. I took the right side with Jeremy, while Adam took the right side, and all four men were killed. There were six men on the middle set of rectangular platforms: two on our side and four on Adam's side. I began moving over to Adam's side and in the end of the shooting there we each had two kills. Once we were sure the first few platforms were clear, Adam and Jeremy covered the other approach, and as I pulled out the C4 I could hear them firing at the guards at the other end of the bridge in short but repeated bursts.

I set one charge on a side of the first support, moved across to the other side, and had just planted the second of four charges when I heard a sound coming from over the bridge. I instantly recognized it as a helicopter. That was crap! We had enough trouble with those things in the past and now there had to be one here? Then again, I doubted the Russians wanted to have such a vulnerable bridge totally undefended from sabotage attempts like ours. I looked to Jeremy and was about to shout a warning over all the gunfire when it came down in to a hover on the side of the walkways that he and I were on.

It blew loose snow everywhere and I reflexively raised a hand to shield my face. Jeremy was right on top of the situation, though. I couldn't hear the sound of his grenade launcher firing, but I could certainly hear (and _see_) the effects. The blast was large enough that the lower windows near the gunner's window shattered completely, and the pilot's windows were all covered in terrible cracks. The helicopter started spinning out of control and I called out in surprise as it spun: its tail slamming in to one of the walkways above that was on the side of the bridge. That tore most of the tail off, the helicopter spun, nosed down, and it's broad slide slammed in to the bridge only two or three yards away from where it's tail hit.

I could feel the bridge shake with the impact. Pulling one of the charges from my pack, I tossed it to Jeremy, who then tossed it to Adam, and we moved for the next supports. Jeremy and Adam were firing at any Russians peeking out from the doorway on the other side of the bridge. Once we were sure they were suppressed or dead, Adam and I stopped to plant the charges. We started moving the moment the charges were planted. The bridge was shaking from the general direction where the helicopter hit. I had a feeling that the shrapnel from the blast must have hit something important: ammunition or fuel, I'd guess. I could hear cement and railing back there falling.

I could also hear the alarm klaxons blaring louder than before.

"Let's move!" Jeremy yelled.

That was rather unnecessary. It wasn't like I needed encouragement to get the hell off the bridge. We moved through a doorway like the one we had been through before, moving for the doorway on our left. Jeremy was first up the ladder, in to a room identical to the one we had been in on the opposite side, and Adam climbed up after him. I slammed on the detonator and I could hear the charges. Then the metal started groaning under my feet. I was too focused to notice it. I was only focused on getting off the bridge. Then, as I was climbing the ladder it happened. The platform at the bottom buckled, and broke away. The left bar of the ladder broke as well and I nearly fell. Then Adam was there, leaning through the hatch with a hand out to me. I lunged up for his hand.

I grabbed it and shifted my right hand up just in time for the two thirds of a ladder below the break to fall off. Placing my left hand back on the ladder, Adam started pulling up on the back of my vest while I strained to pull myself up the ladder. Adam heaved my up in to the hatch once I had my footing again and I tumbled over him, landing behind Jeremy, and looked up to see that he was diligently covering the stairs. So far he hadn't fired a shot. That meant it was possible the Russians thought we had been killed when the bridge had started collapsing. That or they were too caught off-guard to react with detailed search parties just yet.

Adam shut the hatch on the floor and I moved to crouch behind Jeremy.

"Yankee to Juliet." Adam was panting, trying to catch his breath.

There was still gunfire on Lt. Baker's end, _"What is it, Yankee?"_

"Charges have been blown: currently attempting to confirm if the bridge is out."

"_Rodger Yankee: we've managed to get to the mainframe!"_ Lt. Baker replied.

"Understood Juliet: do you need us to pull out?" Adam asked, leaning on the wall.

"_Affirmative Yankee: get the hell out of there! We're bugging out, too!"_

"Rodger that, Juliet. Yankee out." Adam breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

He looked up at me, his winded and tired expression being replaced by the same one he had been wearing when we had been waiting in the train car. He was back to being the same mean old man he had always been since the prison camps.

"We're going to steel a ride." He said matter-of-factly.

I nodded in agreement and tapped Jeremy on the shoulder to move. Jeremy was out the doorway first, ascending the metal steps to solid ground, I was right behind him, and Michael was taking up the rear. We could hear the sounds of people running around and yelling, even over the alarms going off, and we all mentally prepared ourselves for the next firefight in the time it took to get up to the top of the stairs.

Most of this area was a valley, with steep, rocky sides on either side of the tracks, but we had studied overhead photography carefully in order to plan out our extraction. Since we were the distraction team, our secondary extraction wasn't one focused on being stealthy. A Huey helicopter would come down on to the beach, pick us up, and we'd head out to the open ocean where a US Navy warship was sitting in wait for us if necessary on a "standard patrol" that just _happened_ to be coming in to range of our operation to provide evac.

It was a _total_ coincidence, of course.

First, we needed a way to _get_ to the LZ.

On our side of the tracks was a long cement platform, a brick two-story building (the first story of which was like a storage garage), a one story administration building, and another three story building just like the first. Just past the cement platform was a number of stacked train cars. Meanwhile, across the tracks it was much larger. The alarm tower was on that side, with a red light flashing as speakers blared. Coming on to the platform on our side, Jeremy shot down the first three guards we saw, and we took cover in the "garage" of the two-story building for protection from fire coming across the train tracks.

"We need a ride, Adam!" Jeremy yelled.

Adam fired a burst from his M16, "I'm know! I'm thinking!"

"Well don't think too long or we'll be dead!" Jeremy replied.

Moments later, we could hear an engine starting over the gunfire.

Looking from my cover of three large weapons crates, I saw a jeep emerging from a garage across the tracks. It was painted in winter camouflage, with a red star on the door, and a machinegun mounted on the back. Its gunner turned in our general direction and we all pressed to the floor as he opened fire. Bricks, wood, and other things all splintered under the guns heavy fire as we covered our heads. I could feel tiny pieces of brick and crate showering down on me while the gun echoed off in the distance. In case it wasn't obvious before, it was clear now that they were obviously quite mad about our collapsing their bridge.

"That's our ride!" Adam bellowed.

"What?" Jeremy sounded incredulous.

"You heard the man, Jeremy!" I interjected.

"When he reloads, I'll try popping the gunner's head off!" Adam explained.

I watched he moved his M16 behind him, bringing his M14 around, and staying as close to the ground as possible the entire time. The fire from the jeep's gunner was still steadily pounding away at our position. It was starting to make my ears ring a little.

"On my mark, suppress the guys on the platform!" Adam ordered.

We waited for at least a whole minute before the fire finally stopped. At that moment, Adam rolled out from behind cover, and began aiming his rifle. Jeremy emerged from cover, firing a grenade at the opposite platform, and I rose up from cover to start suppressing them with my M16. Meanwhile, I could tell Adam was steadying his aim. A few moments later, he fired a shot. It was quickly followed by a second; then a third. He rose up in to a crouch and waved for us to follow as he headed in the direction of the jeep. We were all firing from the hip at the guards on the platform as we moved for our newly acquired ride.

Coming up to the driver-side door, I opened it, and pulled the body of the dead driver to the ground. Climbing in to the now empty seat, I looked back long enough to see Jeremy climb up to mount the machinegun, and had just shut my door as Adam climbed in to the passenger seat. The jeep was already started so I wasted no time flooring it, turning the jeep so that we were running along the tracks. I could hear the sounds of Jeremy firing the machinegun at anybody who happened to be behind us. It wasn't likely that they would _possibly_ be able to take up pursuit before we were well out of the area.

Still: it was a mentality of "Better Safe than Sorry".

"Hotel 1, this is Yankee Actual!" Adam still had to yell in to his radio.

"_Go, Yankee Actual."_ Came the voice of the Huey pilot.

"We need immediate evac at LZ Whiskey!" Adam was nervously scanning ahead of us.

"_Affirmative Yankee Actual: we are five minutes out."_ The pilot replied.

"Get us to the LZ _now_, Darryl!" Adam barked.

I only spared a, "On it, Adam!"

While I drove, I kept an eye out for the path that lead to the beach where "Landing Zone Whiskey" had been designated. By now Jeremy had stopped firing and the only sounds were those that were made by the jeep as it hit all of the bumps we encountered running along beside the train tracks. None of us even said a word and the radio was silent as we drove. Stealing a glance over to him, I could see Adam was readying a smoke grenade. I knew he would use it to mark the landing zone for the pilot once we got there.

It wasn't very long at all before we saw the turn-off.

Turning sharply, I started us down for the beach. There was still nobody pursuing us and I could see the beach-front as we got closer. We hit the sand at high speed, with the jeep rattling across the uneven terrain. I slammed on the brake and nearly head-butted in the steering wheel in the process. Hopping out of the jeep, I looked off to the horizon and I could see the outline of an incoming helicopter. Looking back, I saw Adam throw the smoke grenade a short distance away. A cloud of green smoke began to form up while the sound of the incoming Huey got louder and louder with each passing moment until it was like a thunder.

The pilot flared his nose as he came in, while I had to shield my eyes from the sand kicked up by the rotor-wash. Jeremy and I were the first on the helicopter, with Adam right behind, and I was the one who tapped the pilot on the shoulder: giving him the thumbs-up that we were good to go. When we all finally sat down to relax, the helicopter's flight chief watched us all silently. I could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to decide what to think of us. Were we Navy SEALs? CIA? Or were we something else entirely? Regardless, it didn't matter what he thought we were to me. I was just glad as hell to be on my way home now.

.

* * *

.

"_So the operation was a success, then?" The Director asked, feet propped up on his desk._

"_The distraction team had to go in to action, but yes." The Doctor replied._

_There was a brief silence as each man silently smoked away on their tobacco product of choice. It wasn't a grim silence like the ones that had been filling the office before. It was more like a...happy or at least contented silence at the thought of a successful mission._

"_How are the decryptions coming?" The Director suddenly asked._

_Though they had successfully retrieved the files, they still had the problem of their coding. The Russians had buried the files in a _lot_ of codes and security. They had been given to the best cryptographers in the CIA and the Trust to decode it._

"_They're making progress." The Doctor said simply._

_The Director quirked a brow, "Progress?"_

"_It may not be advanced security, but there's a lot of it." The Doctor replied._

_The Director nodded slowly, "I see: I'll check in on them later."_

"_Very well." The Doctor replied, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."_

_With that the Doctor stood up, and left the office._

.

* * *

.

**Author's Notes:** Well, once again I was suffering from episodes of writer's block while I wrote this. We're getting close to the end folks! Can you feel it? I sure can! There are some exciting things that are going to happen, but I can't really say anything without spoiling it for you all. Reviews of any kind are appreciated, but no flaming please. Thank you!


End file.
